


How to Measure Worth

by CalicoPudding



Series: Comfort [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Forehead Touching, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oikawa Tooru is a Human Disaster, Polyamory, Self-Destruction, Self-Worth Issues, Sleep Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10412070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoPudding/pseuds/CalicoPudding
Summary: He has no logical reason for the assumptions he makes of himself. He has no words for the crushing feeling of inadequacy when he thinks about his romantic life. He has no way to explain his thought process, except that it goes something like, ‘I am only worth something if I give myself to others’.





	

**Author's Note:**

> What could this be? A vent fic? Surely the author isn't going back to that old shtick again.
> 
> Yup, vent fic. My brain's been banging pots and pans together, screaming like a toddler. So I ended up impulse writing ten pages of poly angst centered around Oikawa, because I certainly haven't done that before, nope nope, totally a first time thing

He’s so very tired, being awake for ninety six hours will do that to a person. But he can’t sleep. He’ll miss phone calls and text messages if he sleeps. Well, he could put his ringer on the highest possible volume, but there’s always a chance he won’t wake up.

He can sleep during his classes, it’ll be okay, he’s passing, he can afford to snooze. All they’re doing is note taking for the most part, he can always ask someone if he can borrow theirs.

His eyelids flutter so he stands up, moving away from his bed.

The night prior, he'd almost missed a panicked text from Yahaba, and the night before, Kunimi had called him, on the verge of tears.

Tooru rubs at his eyes. They're dry, they burn, but it snaps him to another level of being awake.

When the sun comes up, Tooru nods off for five minutes, still sitting up.

He startles awake when the hand holding his head slips, then he panics. For a moment, his mind blanks, he can’t remember where he is, what day it is. His breathing speeds up as his chest expands and deflates at a pace that’s borderline painful.

When he falls back, bouncing lightly against his bed, he comes back to himself.

He’s Oikawa Tooru, he has school, he’s tired.

His phone has no alerts for him, but he meticulously scrolls through his call and text histories to make sure he hasn’t left anything unresolved.

Tooru drags himself to the shower, setting the water as cold as he can bare. When he steps out, he’s shivering, but no longer seeing the world through a fog. At this point though, it’s more like gut wrenching, lead limbed, cement vein exhaustion than plain old, run of the mill fatigue.

He pulls on his uniform and is halfway out the door before he remembers to grab his volleyball bag. As he walks, he double, triple, quadruple checks his phone to make sure the volume is all the way up.

Hajime is waiting for him at the end of the street, half snoozing where he stands.

Tooru’s envious.

He takes a deep breath, willing his body to wake up, as he gets closer. Hajime opens his eyes all the way and straightens up when Tooru is only a few steps away. Hajime does that a lot, like he’s attuned to Tooru’s presence. It’s nice, Hajime wasn’t always so obvious with his quiet forms of caring, he still isn’t, but he makes sure that Tooru knows. It’s an odd sort of assurance, but Tooru knows that Hajime isn’t the best at articulating his thoughts, prominent actions are more than enough.

It helps that Tooru has developed the ability to accurately read and interpret the most minute changes in Hajime’s expressions and posture.

“Long night, Iwa-chan?”

“Up talking to my sister,” Hajime says around a yawn, “She wouldn’t stop talking about her roommate and how much she hates her.”

Tooru just nods and they begin walking.

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“You look exhausted.”

“I was up studying.”

It’s a lie, Tooru didn’t even touch his notes. He was up staring at the ceiling, checking his phone every other second, just in case. But Hajime doesn’t need to know that, he’d worry. Tooru doesn’t want him to worry. Hajime makes himself shoulder as much blame for their shortcomings as Tooru does. And really, they’re self perceived shortcomings, but that doesn’t change how they feel.

Tooru wishes that Hajime wouldn’t blame himself, not when the mistakes are quite obviously Tooru’s fault. Hajime does more than enough, Tooru just wants him to take a break. Of all the members on his team, Hajime is the one who doesn’t come to Tooru when he has troubles. Hajime’s a listener at heart, and for all that Tooru can read him, Hajime’s a damn good liar.

Hajime doesn’t believe him, Tooru can see it in the slight crease of his brow and the downward turn of his lips. But if there’s one thing that Hajime has learned about Tooru over the years, it’s that he’s as stubborn as a mountain.

They walk in companionable silence. Tooru slings his arm around Hajime’s shoulder, more because he needs to keep himself upright than anything, but he does enjoy the contact. Hajime’s arm comes up automatically to rest around Tooru’s back, giving him some more support.

Absently, he turns to press a quick kiss to Tooru’s hand, before bringing up his free one to hold it loosely.

Tooru smiles.

Takahiro and Issei are waiting for them at the front of the school. They both look well rested, but Takahiro is shifting his weight back and forth, leaning on Issei for likely the same reason that Tooru has his arm around Hajime.

Tooru hugs the both of them in lieu of a ‘good morning’, a kiss on the cheek for Takahiro and a touch of foreheads for Issei. Hajime does the same, and the four of them start their day together.

* * *

Tooru is dizzy by the middle of practice. His leg is shaking, his knee ready to give out at any moment.

Hajime notices.

They take a short break and Oikawa locks himself in a bathroom stall as his body starts convulsing. He’s already acknowledged his exhaustion, but he can’t remember the last time he ate. It certainly wasn’t this morning, he forgot. But yesterday is a blurry mess of colors, none of which look like food.

He has been guzzling water though, that has to count for something. He’s not sure just how long he’s been in the stall, probably longer than the break though. Someone will come looking for him.

That’s not good.

A shudder travels up his back, shaking his shoulders and arms, and it _hurts._ It sparks a pounding ache in his chest. He’s suddenly much too cold, teeth starting to chatter as he fights to keep his eyes open.

Tooru leans forward and his forehead hits the cool metal of the wall about the same time that the bathroom door flies open.

“Oikawa?”

Hajime sounds more concerned than Tooru is comfortable with

“I could hear you hyperventilating from out there, unlock the door.”

Through the tears gathering in his eyes, Tooru can make out Hajime’s shoes beneath the door.

“I’m fine,” he manages to choke out. He feels like he’s going to throw up.

“You’re not, now unlock the door before I get Issei and Takahiro in here to get the door off its hinges.”

With a shaky hand, Tooru turns the lock and finds himself in Hajime’s arms almost immediately after. Their heights even out as Tooru’s knee finally gives out. Hajime holds him up without complaint.

“I’m taking you home,” Hajime says, “Everyone’s outside running laps so don’t worry about anyone seeing you, I told Mattsun to keep them out there a while.”

They’ve done this before.

Tooru got bad in their second year. He went a week with only a thinly spread four hours of sleep, his chances of remembering to eat were fifty-fifty, and he ended up collapsing on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Takahiro and Issei had been there with him and Hajime, the four of them having stayed late to practice.

He’s been careful since then, hasn’t blacked out once, hasn’t made Hajime worry, hasn’t made Takahiro worry, hasn’t made Issei worry.

He failed.

Hajime strokes his hair as he starts crying softly. He’s tired, physically and emotionally. It’s not that he doesn’t like being captain, he loves it. The problem comes when he gets overzealous in shouldering everybody’s burden. He’d opened himself up as the one to come to when they had problems, he likes making them feel better.

His problem is that _he_ doesn’t talk to anyone.

“Okay, come on, lean on me.”

Hajime shifts him so they can shuffle walk out. Tooru may be in pain, but he’s not going to crush his pride by letting Hajime carry him.

Takahiro is waiting with their bags, red eyed and worried when he takes in Tooru’s state. He hands both of their bags to Hajime, before stepping in to hug Tooru.

Of the four of them, Takahiro’s easily the most physical. If he’s not hugging Tooru, then he’s hanging off Issei or getting piggybacked by Hajime. He squeezes Tooru tight, pressing a kiss to his temple before pulling back.

“Get some rest,” he whispers.

Hajime wasn’t supposed to worry, Takahiro wasn’t supposed to be feeling guilty.

“Please.”

“I’ll make sure he does, don’t worry, Makki.” Hajime ruffles his hair before sending him outside to keep watch with Issei.

Slowly, Hajime walks Tooru home, his home because Tooru lives farther away and the less walking he has to do the better.

“Mom’s still at work, she’s staying late,” Hajime says as he unlocks the door, “So don’t worry about her finding out.”

During their first year, she’d been home when Hajime brought him over. She saw the dark circles, the ice packs, the utter exhaustion, and she’d called Tooru’s dad to let him know. That had been a headache, and one that Tooru doesn’t want to repeat.

He lets Hajime walk him to the couch. Hajime’s room is upstairs, and even with support, he doubts he could make it there. He settles against the cushions, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He hears the thud of their bags hit the ground, and feels Hajime’s hand in his hair.

When Hajime leaves to get ice packs, pain killers, and water, Tooru blindly reaches for his bag, digging through it one handedly to find his phone. It’s a battle to open his eyes, they’re immeasurably heavy now that he’s closed them. He manages to pry them half way open, he makes himself sit up for added alertness, his body lurching violently to the side before he rights himself.

Already, there’s a slew of missed texts and a few phone calls.

Before he can open any of them, however, his phone vanishes, plucked out his hands by Hajime whose face reads only as ‘no’.

“But-”

“No, you’re resting for the rest of the day, that includes taking care of your mental health.”

Hajime slips the phone into his back pocket before kneeling down to take off Tooru’s knee brace.

The skin beneath is irritated and red, some spots are dark and splotchy. Carefully, Hajime presses around, judging what’s wrong by Tooru’s facial expressions. Physically, nothing’s out of place, but it’s more than obvious that his knee is swollen. Hajime straps an ice pack on, then hands Tooru the water bottle. He sets the bottle of painkillers on the table.

“When’s the last time you ate?” Hajime asks, rocking back up off his knees to stand.

Tooru shrugs.

“I’ll make something. You’re going to sleep after, don’t bother arguing.”

Tooru could fall asleep now, he doesn’t think he has the energy to argue.

Still, the nagging voice at the back of his head doesn’t want to to shut up. Without thinking, Tooru grabs onto Hajime’s shirt just as he’s about to walk to the kitchen.

“What is it?”

Tooru’s not sure. He can’t exactly tell Hajime that he wants the voice in his head to shut up. That might sound strange. Instead, he tugs on Hajime’s shirt.

“Sit with me for a little while?” he asks quietly, trying desperately to keep his eyes open, at least long enough to see what kind of face Hajime will make in response.

Confusion gives way to understanding and Hajime moves to sit beside Tooru. Minding the ice pack strapped to his leg, Tooru arranges himself so he’s resting against Hajime. After a few moments, Hajime’s playing with his hair, a slow and steady drag of fingers against his scalp.

Tooru’s asleep within moments.

* * *

Hajime wakes him up some time later to make him eat. He eats slowly, so as not to make himself sick. When he’s halfway finished, Tooru takes the ice pack off his knee, pleased to find that the swelling has disappeared, even if the ache hasn’t gone away completely. Hajime opens the pill bottle for him, shaking out two

“Mattsun and Makki are on their way, they just called.”

Tooru tries to process what Hajime’s saying, but he’s hung up on the last bit. He nearly chokes as he swallows down the painkillers.

Where’s his phone? Someone on his team might have tried to call. He doesn’t even know what time it is. Surely one of them would have come to some conclusion, having come in from laps to find both him and Hajime gone. What if they suspected something was wrong? He can’t make them worry.

“Don’t,” Hajime says. “You’re panicking. Mattsun told everyone that your knee had flared up, that’s it. No one jumped to any conclusions.”

“Let me see my phone,” Tooru says, holding out one of his hands. Hajime shakes his head, so Tooru puts on his best determined face. When that doesn’t work, he tries puppy dog eyes, a trick that used to have a ninety-seven percent success rate.

Hajime’s eyes drop, his posture stiffens.

“Look at your hand.”

“Iwa-chan, what are you talking ab-”

His hand is shaking, violently, but Tooru can’t feel it at all. It’s disorienting, concerning. Tooru feels his mouth drop open. He shifts on the couch, turning so his body faces Hajime. This has never happened before.

One of Hajime’s hands close around Tooru’s wrist, the other around his palm, stopping the shaking after a moment. He doesn’t make eye contact, his gaze fixed on Tooru’s hand. A few tears slip down his face.

Tooru hates seeing Hajime cry, it’s not right.

“Why don't you take care of yourself?” Hajime asks after a moment, still holding onto Tooru’s hand.

Tooru doesn't answer.

“You take care of me, and of everyone else, but you never take care of yourself.”

Hajime looks up then, eyes hard and expression stony.

“Iwa-chan, I-” Tooru draws in a sharp breath and rocks forward, slipping his hands from Hajime’s in order to pull him into a hug. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

Tooru takes care of everyone else, he knows that about himself, it’s something he takes pride in. He can carry his team, ease their trouble, help them along. It’s one of the few things he loves about himself. Telling anyone else would be selfish. When they were little, Tooru would tell Hajime everything; when he was feeling sad, happy, empty, joyous, high flying or falling. Hajime listened, he was Tooru’s rock, and Tooru decided he wanted to be that for Hajime too.

So he did, for everyone else. He stopped telling Hajime everything, to make sure there was no cause for worry.

Tooru looks at Hajime like he’s the stars in the sky, like he’s the reason the sun shines. Tooru looks at his team as if they’re the finest gems in the entire world, the shining rays of sun bursting through a layer of clouds. They are, Tooru wouldn’t see them that way if they weren’t. They’re all perfect.

Yahaba’s wound tight, spread thin before his parent’s expectations. He calls Tooru on the verge of panic, afraid because he’s worried about his grade. His position on the volleyball team is dependent on his grades, and his parents won’t accept anything less than perfect.

Kunimi calls him crying, or on the verge of crying. For the most part, the tears are without reason. Kunimi gets nightmares, ones he can’t remember when he wakes up, only that there’s a crushing weight on his chest and he can barely speak. It gets to the point that he rarely sleeps at night, choosing instead to nap against Kindaichi, or whatever unmoving surface he can find at school.

Takahiro’s trouble stem from the fact that his mother left about a month ago and she’s yet to come back. He talks to her sometimes, she’d needed space away from his father, they’d been fighting a lot but Takahiro has it in his head that he’s the reason she left. He’ll call Tooru and they’ll talk for upwards of an hour, Takahiro laying out all of his worry.

The others don’t need as much attention, but they’ll text or call sometimes.

Tooru wants them to be okay, he’d move heaven and earth to make it so. They deserve that. If it means he’s without sleep, run ragged and worn, he doesn’t mind.

Hajime wanted to know why he doesn’t take care of himself.

It’s a good question, one with a sad answer.

Tooru doesn’t think highly of himself, he can admit that much. There’s always room to improve, always room to grow further. The only way to do that is to pour as much of himself as possible into everything he does. Always one hundred and twenty percent, one hundred fifty, as much as he can give and more.

Besides, their situations call for more than Tooru’s does.

He’s fine, living with his mom. His dad works a lot, but they’re all on good terms with each other. Tooru’s mom worries about him, his dad is willing to practice lackadaisically with him two of three times.

The same can’t be said for some of his team, he can’t complain. He’ll be a replacement senior figure then, if that’s what the situation calls for. Tooru likes the idea of being an older brother.

Hajime’s still waiting for an answer.

So, Tooru gives him the simplest answer he can think of.

“You, the team, you’re worth it.” Tooru rocks back to sit properly, taking hold of one of Hajime’s hands, toying with his fingers.

The answer doesn’t seem to be what Hajime is looking for. In fact, he looks more broken than he had before Tooru opened his mouth.

“And you think you’re not?”

Tooru just shrugs.

“Damn it, Tooru.”

He’s about to make a light hearted joke about Hajime using profanity, but the tears slipping from Hajime’s eyes tell him he’s really messed up.

“Hajime, wait- please don’t cry, please don’t, I hate it when you cry.” He tries to reach forward, to wipe the tears from Hajime’s cheeks before his own start falling, but Hajime grabs his hands before he can.

“Tell me why,” Hajime says, shifting to hold both of Tooru’s wrists in one hand so he can wipe his face with the other, “why, exactly, do you think you’re somehow worth less than anyone else? How can that be possible? Everyone trusts you enough to tell you the ugly parts about their lives, the parts that they used to keep to themselves. They trust _you_ with that, no one else. So how in the hell are you worth nothing when you hold that much trust?”

Tooru knows that Hajime wants a legitimate answer, but he doesn’t have one. He has no concrete explanation for the whisper that slithers in with words like ‘flawed’, ‘weak’, and ‘hopeless’. He has no logical reason for the assumptions he makes of himself. He has no words for the crushing feeling of inadequacy when he thinks about his romantic life. He has no way to explain his thought process, except that it goes something like, ‘I am only worth something if I give myself to others’.

“I don’t know, Hajime, I don’t,” he says softly. At first, he’s not sure if Hajime actually heard him. He’s not going to repeat himself, the words felt uncomfortable falling past his lips. He doesn’t want to say them again.

Hajime’s grip on his wrists loosens enough that Tooru can pull his hands away.

“I’m tired,” he finds himself saying, unsure as to why. “Hajime, I’m so tired.”

He’s not thinking straight, that’s the only explanation. He has no control over what he’s saying. But part of him feels lighter, so he doesn’t try to stop them.

Tooru tells Hajime how often he stays up at night. He tells Hajime that the bruise beneath his chin isn’t from practice, but because he partially collapsed in the kitchen and hit the counter on the way down. He talks about the first time Yahaba texted him, irrationally anxious that Tooru would remove him from the team if his grades fell, because that’s what his parents told him. The first time Kunimi cried to him. The first time he pulled Takahiro aside at practice because he wasn’t focused. Tooru talks about how excited his dad was for them to win nationals, only for them to lose before they got there. He finds himself crying as he tells Hajime about the last time he went to get his knee looked over, the doctor had told him that if he didn’t stop volleyball soon, he could cause irreparable damage to his knee.

It’s at that point that Hajime pulls him close, pressing a kiss to his hair. He dances his fingers down Tooru’s back, giving him the chance to recollect himself before he continues.

There’s not much else to tell, and soon enough, Tooru quiets down, one hand fists in Hajime’s shirt, holding tight like a lifeline.

“I’m tired, Hajime,” he finishes.

Wordlessly, Hajime stands up, holding Tooru steady. He climbs the stairs to his room, his door already open. He sets Tooru on the bed, helping him lay down before settling beside him, sitting against the headboard.

“Go back to sleep, Tooru,” Hajime says, gently petting Tooru’s hair out of his face.

“What about Issei and Takahiro?” Tooru pushes the words out before he yawns, eyelids already starting to droop again.

“It’s okay, they’ll stay until you wake up. Maybe they’ll sleep over.”

Tooru nods, eyes closing completely. It’s strange, the empty feeling in his chest isn’t what it usually is.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, anyone wanna just give me a new brain? This is getting ridiculous. 
> 
> In any case, please love the boy, he deserves it. Also, this was just gonna be a straight up vent work, but my dumb ass decided to add in polyamory because that's how I am. However, because it's not the main focus of the fic, they're not as much as there was in Perfectionism, but oh well. 
> 
> I'll be getting back to my WIP stories, I swear. Let me know what you think, if you don't mind too much.


End file.
